


Gravity

by Allthephils



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst and wanting, M/M, early phan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 20:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17270873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allthephils/pseuds/Allthephils
Summary: Home can feel like a prison when you’re on the edge of adulthood and everything that matters is hours away.





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I just wrote stream of consciousness style. Call it therapy. I hope you enjoy it.

It’s too fucking quiet in here. The only sounds are creaks in the dark and it’s scary but not in the way it should be. Dan’s just scared in general, anxious. He’s like a guest in this house, a guest with rude, unattentive hosts. Nothing here feels like him, not the real him anyway. He just wants to feel safe, he wants to be home, though technically that’s exactly where he is. There’s a real physical pain in his chest and his skin is crawling with a restless need to run, to throw open the front door and take off, sprinting. Before the thought even forms completely, he’s grabbing his coat and slamming the door behind him.

 

The air is cold against his skin, biting right through his coat. He’s standing in the drive, keys in hand, heart beating impossibly fast. He brings a hand up to his chest as if he could calm it with his touch. It’s just a car, a boring, late model, sensible family car, but it’s sits waiting like a land mine. He could wait till morning and try to book a train ticket but the thought tugs at the ache in his ribs so with a quick inhale, he presses the unlock button on the fob and opens the door. 

 

He doesn’t have to think about where he’s going. The pull toward Phil is always there and it gets stronger every day, every minute they’re apart. He only has to break free of the orbit he’s in and let himself fall. 

 

Before they met in real life, there was longing born of infatuation and curiosity. They’d turned the sexual tension up so high, he thought he’d combust that day at the train station. It was different in person, scarier, but deeper too. Something real and strong had grown between editing tips and late night Skype calls talking about Muse. Stealing away during YouTube events was one thing, folding himself into Phil’s arms in his bed, his actual bed from the videos, was something else entirely. 

 

Longing doesn’t cover it anymore, it’s heavier than that, a strong, suffocating need. It is actual cruelty to expect him to stay in that house while his family is away. The two of them, alone in separate houses just hours apart is just wrong. It’s too much to listen to Phil say he misses him, tell him what he’d do if he were there. He can’t want anymore. Every cell is bursting and tearing and propelling him forward.

 

There’s a playlist of songs that have been the soundtrack to the two of them so far. It’s loud enough to quiet any doubt left nagging in the corners of his mind. Loud enough to quiet predictions of Phil’s voice admonishing him,  _ you don’t have a full license yet, you didn’t get permission, if something happened because of me… _

 

He didn’t tell him, didn’t ask permission. He’s an adult and if he wants to be with his boyfriend, his boyfriend who talked all day about how much he wished he were there, well then he’s going. 

 

It’s so dark out here. An hour in and the road is empty and stretching ahead, neverending. The fear of the dark and the solitude has settled into a nice steady thrill. He’s sipping coffee at nearly midnight, staying alert not just for the drive but for what comes next. 

 

He’d make this drive for a one real life glimpse of Phil’s eyes, sleepy and squinting behind glasses, so blue but with some magical spark of something else dancing at the edges. He’d make it to watch his adam’s apple bob as he sips his coffee, to rest his hand just above his knee, resisting the urge to squeeze until he realizes he doesn’t have to resist. 

 

Too much is lost in texting, in phone calls, and Skype sessions. The connection is never enough to hear every subtle nuance of Phil’s voice. His laugh isn’t the same through a speaker and he always covers his mouth. Those crooked pink lips, too pretty for such a broad chested boy, framing his gorgeous bubbling laughter.  _ Put your hand down.  _ Dan tries to tell him but he’s embarrassed by his narrow teeth and too big smile.  _ It’s not.  _ Dan always says,  _ it’s so pretty, all of you is pretty.  _ He doesn’t try to sound cool, he forgets to. And it’s worth it to see the blush that colors those pale cheekbones, sharp enough to stab him right in the heart. 

 

He has this high pitched giggle when Dan catches him off guard, crossing a line Phil isn’t accustomed to, and a soft, sleepy drawl that comes when they really settle in deep. When they’ve been talking for hours and their voices drop low, when shirts get rucked up and their breath gets ragged, hands roaming to all the bits of skin they wish the other could touch, that’s the one he needs to hear up close. That deep, confident growl is disarming over miles of air but in person, with those curious, eager hands mapping every part of Dan, then it’s sublime. He wants breath on his neck, in his ear, and against his lips when Phil speaks. He wants unintelligible sounds, muffled whimpers, and pleasured moans. He wants to pull warm, viscous love from every pore of Phil so he knows. Even though they don’t say it, not yet. 

 

They’ll be alone. They won’t need to be quiet or hold back. And if Phil is half asleep, too tired to bring Dan’s vivid imagination to life, he’ll climb into his bed and tangle his legs up with his. He’ll listen to the sound of him sleeping, the tiny groans when he rolls over, the snores. He’ll rub the soles of his feet over his calves, feel the rough hair and just underneath, the muscle, soft and at rest. He’ll trace his fingers over the trail of hair on his belly and up to his chest. He’ll flatten his palm over that firm place and feel his heart beat and let himself sleep till morning. 

 

The exit for Rawtenstall is 2 miles ahead. Rehearsing the many ways he could say hi when the door opens, he pulls the visor down and opens the mirror. As he pulls off the road into town, he adjusts his fringe. Phil’s is bound to be pushed back and that image sends all Dan’s blood rushing downward. He’s chewing his chapped lips so he takes a swig from his water bottle before dragging his lip balm across his lips. It’s cherry, a cheeky homage he bought to remind him of some of the happiest days whenever he licks his lips.

 

He watches the front door for a few long minutes before he gets out of the car. The drive was unreal, removed from time and space and consequences but now he’s here. What if Phil’s parents came home early? What if Phil is angry at the interruption to his sleep? What if he thinks this was a stupid, impulsive, immature thing to do? It’s going to frighten him. A knock on the door at three in the morning is it’s own special terror. Dan’s hands are sweating even as he shivers on the stoop. He wipes them on his jeans and shakes his head briskly, building some courage. 

 

A quiet knock, then a louder one, discordant with the symphony of crickets. His heart beats at twice the speed of the rhythm playing all around him, his foot tapping along. It occurs to him that he could be stood here till the sun comes up with Phil hiding out in his room, afraid to come downstairs. Picking up his phone, he texts  _ It’s me.  _ It’ll ruin the surprise, wreck the tension of the Hollywood moment, but he can’t bare to scare him like that. The footsteps are heavy, anything but graceful and Dan exhales, still terrified but ready to cry from relief as well. There’s a click, a rattle, and a thud as the locks are released and the door knob finally turns.

 

“Hi.” Dan says and there’s a hand on his arm, yanking him inside, pulling him into a hug. There’s nothing to hide from, no one to impress. His coat slips off his shoulders into Phil’s hands and is tossed aside.

 

“How did you get here? Are you ok?” He kisses his cheek between his freckles like he always does when they’re alone.

 

“Yeah. I drove.” Dan swallows, knowing how crazy he must sound. “I missed you.”

 

“You drove?”

 

Dan nods. “Can we go to bed?” 

 

Phil looks like he has questions but he doesn’t voice any of them. He takes Dan by the hand and leads him up the stairs. Dan’s clothes come off slowly under his care. There are whispers in the dark and promises to explain in the morning. Phil lay on his back, his arm open in invitation and Dan fits himself perfectly against his side, weaving his leg between Phil’s. His head rests on Phil’s chest and his eyes slip shut as he breathes in the scent of leftover cologne and the slight hint of salty sweat. He’s unguarded, so sure and trusting, he could melt into this man.

 

Home used to feel like this, like his grandma’s kitchen, a refuge from the big daunting world. The older he’s gotten the more that feeling has slipped through his fingers and he’s felt a pull to branch out and make his own sanctuary. He’s been so eager to shop for pots and pans and wardrobes and to find brick and mortar to house it all. It all seemed so adult not so long ago. Now he knows it’s far simpler than that. This is what it is to be grown. The rise and fall of Phil’s chest underneath him, sharing the air they breathe, needing to be close, to know that Phil is here and that he’s safe and he’s happy. If finding your own home is growing up then he’s doing far better than he gives himself credit for. His forever home is right here in his arms.

 

End.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on tumblr [@allthephils](http://allthephils.tumblr.com/)


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